


Withered

by xxxkia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description, Insanity, M/M, Mental Disorder, Mental Institutions, Self Harm, WincestReverseBigBang2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxkia/pseuds/xxxkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam finds his name carved into his brother's chest, he actually starts to question his sanity.<br/> </p><p>This fan fiction is written for the 2016 Wincest Reverse Big Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withered

**Author's Note:**

> This fan fiction is written for the 2016 Wincest Reverse Big Bang.
> 
> For the art please go to: 2blueshoes
> 
>  
> 
> The artist, as well as I, have both decided that we are not keen on smut, therefore it will just be implied here. So, if you are looking for a PWP, I'm sorry but you won't find it here.
> 
> Therefore the rating has nothing to do with sex but with gore. There will be blood and some other ugly things. This includes SELF HARM, MENTAL DISORDERS and some sort of DEPRESSION.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy :D

**[© Art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6755425) **

 

 

**~~  ~~**

 

He sat underneath the magnolia tree.

He liked the blossoms. They were somehow pretty, yet delicate. He watched the branches rustle as wind blew through the tree's crown, making the tree shiver unintentionally. Well, _not really shiver_ but still, the wind ruffled at the leaves and blossoms, and Dean watched the petals rain onto the ground around the tree.

It was a shame, really, that it only blossomed for a week or so. The ground was already littered with fallen - dead – petals; three days into the blossoming period of the tree. Now they started to fall as soon as the wind or rain touched the tree.

The blossoms were pinkish-white, and when he first sat on the wooden bench that was built in the shape of a round-about around the trunk of the tree, he didn't even know what kind of tree it was. It's not like he cared. But the tree was standing alone in the middle of the garden, a little in the back, and he liked that no one else was there. The other patients normally stay closer to the building, seated on one of the three benches located by the walkway, which really was just a trail that had been filled with pebbles.

His glance wandered to the double-winged French door. One male nurse was standing next to it, arms crossed on his chest as he watched the garden and its occupants. Another nurse - female this time - was walking through the garden, helping patients and making sure everything was alright. There was a platform leading away from the double doors and the building. Three tables - two with two chairs and one with three chairs - had been mounted to the platform, their legs literally embedded into the concrete platform. Two steps led from the platform and into the garden. The garden was rather big with trees and flowers all over; probably to hide the wall of razor wire that was built behind a lavish tree line. 

The pebble trail - _no, walkway_ \- started at the end of the platform steps and ran in an odd line through the whole garden before it ended back at the steps again. Three benches were littered along the way - one beneath an oak tree and two in the open. All of them with no doubt again mounted with concrete and iron into the ground.

The magnolia tree was standing away from the trail, and Dean had only found it because he left it to walk across the grass. The bench was once painted with a blue color but the weather had made sure that it was weathered away already, leaving only traces of the blue on the old wood.

Now every time he was allowed in the garden, he would wander in the far corner of the garden - a place the other patients would avoid, and sit down on the almost decayed bench to lean against the trunk of the tree.

He never questioned what kind of tree it was but after two months of constantly sitting beneath its branches, a nurse approached him to ask if everything was alright. He didn't answer and she sighed while he looked up the tree to see the lifeless winter branches. _I always liked magnolia trees,_ she had said, _too bad they blossom only for a short time though._ He hasn't been here that long yet, so when the tree started blossoming about a week ago. it was the first time he had witnessed its beauty.

They had access to books - _controlled and supervised_ \- and because he had nothing better to do, he went and picked up a book about botanics - _botanics for fuck's sake_ \- and researched about what the hell a magnolia tree even was. 

The book had showed him the blossoms that were supposed to bloom in the spring time - it was still January at the time he had started his research - and he was rather taken aback when he found out what the tree actually stood for. The meaning of flowers or some crap - it was not like he was that interested in his research - but he remembered faintly something about pureness and innocence. And then he just couldn't help but to continue to sit beneath the tree.

He felt slightly like he was mocking it. 

He stared at the blossoms beneath his feet. Once they had fallen, they started to turn brown and wither. The wax of the petals made them limpy and sticky once they lay on the ground for a few days. The smell of rotten flowers mixed with the freshness of the blossoms that were still clinging to the tree, which had survived the rain and wind.

Dean liked the blossoms. They were somehow pretty. So pure and innocent.

And he liked sitting beneath the magnolia tree because yes, he was mocking it. _Pure and innocent._

He liked mocking it because he was everything the tree wasn't.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

"Mr. Davidson?!", The man in the white coat put his hand out for Sam to shake, "Dr. James Page, nice to make your acquaintance."

Sam nodded, "Hunt Davidson." The fake name rolled off his tongue as if it was his actual given name. He used it so often in the last half year that it was becoming too casual… too common. He got to remember to be careful about this because he was starting to believe the name himself.

"I hear you are here on behalf of Mr. Winchester?" The doctor stepped closer to look outside the window; the same one Sam was standing in front of. They were in the doctor's office – a room with a metal door, locked with a key code and iron bar locks. The door led into the hospital itself, making sure that getting through wasn't an easy task. At least not for unauthorized personnel.

Sam knew why the office was so strictly locked away and inaccessible for the patients. It was _cluttered_.

Shelves full with books, small statues, art objects, decorative shit, and things like sharp letter openers, pencils, scissors that should not be accessible for mental health patients are scattered all over the room. There was also a wall-length window that faced the gardens of the institution - no doubt double glazed windows - and they were probably the only windows in the whole building that did not have bars in front of them.

Obviously the office had to be sealed in such a way so that no patients could enter and take _anything_.

Sam had been standing in front of the window as he waited for Dr. Page, his arms crossed behind his back. He was staring out, his glance focused on a tree in the back of the garden. It was in a secluded area, yet still opened enough for the nurses and guards to see everything in plain view. His eyes followed every movement - or lack of - of the person sitting beneath the half-blossoming tree. _Magnolias, no doubt._

"Yes, the officials were adamant to finally get the case to move," Sam answered as he turned around to look at the briefcase he had draped over one of the leather arm chairs, which were standing in front of the huge desk in the middle of the room. The file was in there.

"It's only been 7 months, that's quite a fast approach," Dr. Page said while inviting Sam with a hand gesture to take a seat in one of the arm chairs. Sam nodded, turning away from the window before he took a seat. The doctor walked behind the desk and sat down as well, facing Sam before he placed his hand flat on a file on the desk.

"Mr. Winchester's condition is quite unique, I have to admit. And he grew pretty unresponsive over the last few months. I'm not sure a court trial can be held in his condition." The man opened the file that held statistics and information about the patient. "I know the charges are severe but I'm afraid he won't be able to contribute anything towards his defense."

"That's why I am here, Dr. Page," Sam said, refraining from rolling his eyes. "As his attorney, I'm aware of what Mr. Winchester can or cannot do. Unfortunately, the evidence is crushing and it's only a formal affair. His mental condition and his declared illness are the only things the court is interested in."

"Of course," the doctor nodded before he took the report file in front of him and turned it around so Sam was able to read it. "I'll give you a complete overview of the medical findings."

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Sam was aware of the nurse that functioned as a guard as well when he made his way over to Dean. The air was rather chill and even though it was sunny when he arrived at the hospital, the weather had changed and the sky was now a dull gray. It smelled like rain. 

The magnolia tree was withered already, only a good third of the original blossoms were still on the tree. The rest lay beneath it on the ground.

Dean looked through Sam when he came closer as if he wasn't seeing him at all. "Hey there," Sam stopped a good two feet away from his brother, hands in his pockets while he hunched his shoulders. For one thing, it made him smaller - a really annoying habit he had picked up - and for another, it protected himself from the icy wind that had picked up.

As the gust tousled through the tree, rotten petals fell down on Sam.

He brushed them off, making them join the others on the ground before he focused back on Dean.

Whose green eyes were finally focused on him.

"I'm Hunt Davidson," Sam said, keeping his hands in his pockets, "I'm your attorney in the Falken case."

Dean still looked at him expressionless.

"Dean Winchester," Sam added, not expecting an answer as he continued, "You are accused of six murders of the Falken family. Your charges include homicide, desecration of a living as well as of a decreased being, including grave desecration and robbery. It also includes theft, violation of human rights, violation of the human body, kidnapping, deprivation of liberty, the use of torture and unethical methods on the victims and forced extractions of blood, internal organs and intestines, which went against any value of humanity."

There was no reaction from Dean and Sam closed his eyes after he finished his speech about rights and laws and what else they expected from him.

He knew the case by heart, even though it was his heart that ached every time he had to deal with this.

His brother looked at him, just a shell of his former self before Sam turned around and walked back towards the platform. Dr. Page was waiting by the double-doors, having watched the whole exchange as if he actually cared about his patients. Sam nodded his head and shook his hand before he declared that he would be back tomorrow to talk to the defendant once again.

The doctor had a tight smile on his lips but he didn't say anything, just nodded and wished Sam a good day as if Sam wouldn't be affected by the patient's condition. As if this was just a case, one of many - all the same, all without hope - and that Sam wouldn't even think about it anymore once he left the mental institution. _Leave the heavy stuff at work. Don't take it home._

As if Sam wouldn’t be affected by the fact that this was his brother, hunched under that damn tree, not responding to the world or anything. With eyes as empty as the pits of hell, empty of hope that had always drove his brother. Stubborness, determination. Things that made Dean _Dean_.

When Sam left the hospital, it started raining. Fitting to his mood, yet promising as he was finally allowed to act. He needed to get Dean out of there, out of the loony bin, out of that garden, away from that tree. That dumb tree that was mocking Sam with its perfectness. With its _pureness and innocence_. Reminding him of everything his brother had done and so obviously wasn't.

Sam frowned. _He fucking hated magnolias._

 

**~~  ~~**

 

He headed back to the motel he was staying at. It was the sort you could rent for months instead of days. Instead of _hours_.

That didn't mean it was necessary _nicer_. 

He had been staying there the whole time, long enough to know the two girls who worked at the office by their first names, knowing that one is addicted to hazelnut-flavored coffee and the other one to being British, drinking tea the whole day and trying to speak with a horrific British accent that didn't really sound like British but it wasn't like Sam could tell her that.

All in all, it was only an indication that he was staying here too long already. Always on the road, this was, beside Stanford - _oh, Stanford_ -, the longest period of time he stayed somewhere.

Almost a year. _Almost a year_.

He sighed as he entered his room, placing the briefcase in one of the chairs before he stood in the middle of the room, out of place and out of his mind.

He had worked without a break in the past year, faking, manipulating, cheating, bribing... _lying_.

It had taken three hunters, a hacker and two bribed government workers to model the case just how Sam needed it.

Dean's case.

He had put up a fake post box to fake his whole lawyer career. Hell, he printed business cards. Bought suits, changed cars; fake home address, fake work address, fake résumé.

At this point, Sam was pretty sure he could just walk into the public defender office, sit down at a table and start working without anybody questioning him. Although it was f _ake_ , Sam thanked heavens that his Dad knew a guy, who knew a guy, who had contacts to a real lawyer. Or something of the sorts.

It was hard, keeping it up and not fucking up at the same time. He dealt with the police, coroners, lawyers, judges, doctors, and people, who did nothing but ask stupid, unnecessary, and annoying _questions_.

That didn't mean that Sam couldn't handle it. Oh hell, _he could handle it_.

_It's not like he had a choice._

He started moving, cleaning the already neat kitchen, organizing things just to keep his hands and mind occupied. Dean couldn't go in front of a court. Not again, not with the evidence that is piled up against him.

Sam started to make coffee, thoughts wild and desperate, trying to find out a way out of this mess.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

It had started almost two years ago. That's when Sam had noticed the changes in Dean.

It's not like he instantly questioned it, though. 

His brother and him. _They work differently_.

So close, so dependent, so sacrificing and unconditional they were with each other, but they were never ever one thing ever -

 _honest_.

So - _naturally_ \- he didn't question Dean's behaviour. It had always been lies and secrets and hidden deals with demons along the way. _That_ was nothing new.

He figured that eventually he would find it out. Or someone would throw it in his face like they always do. He was too tired to question it, too tired to spy after his older brother, and he just let it go.

Now, he regretted it.

Maybe he was getting old, Sam mused and chuckled low at the thought.

His younger self definitely would have given Dean hell for whatever he was hiding. But they've been through _enough_ and Sam didn't really know when exactly they came to a truce, but they did somehow along the way.

It was unspoken of course. _Obviously_.

But they did and they didn't question each other anymore. But they would never actually give up on each other.

Neither would they were _leaving each other_.

So what was the point in fretting over something that would never change? Dean would always do something in the dark, something he thought was right because it would _protect Sammy_ and naturally Sam would frown upon it if he would ever find out the truth. And then Sam would do something that Dean didn’t like and it was just be an _endless game of chase_.

So at one point, they would just give up… the questioning, the frowning, the commenting about what was right or wrong.

 _And just like that_ , Sam had never been so relieved in all his life.

But that didn't mean that he didn't _notice_.

It was hard enough to stay in a hotel room alone, just to wait for his brother to come back smelling like a woman's perfume and sex. And whiskey.

And stupid leather jackets and gun oil.

Sometimes the smell of cold smoke from a bar would cling to him but Sam knew that Dean didn't like that. He knew Dean had smoked occasionally in the past.

But not since Hell.

At the same time as Dean became wary of smoke, he became outright comfortable with blood.

His secretly germ-hating brother didn't seem to have a problem getting soaked in blood and guts. And Sam probably should have questioned it but their line of work _never_ was a clean business - literally.

But it wasn't until two years later that Sam finally noticed a change. One that wasn't because of a small lie or a hidden secret or some random demon deal.

Ironicly it was the fact that Dean couldn't seem to stay away.

Sam's brother had always been a kind of drifter. Regardless with the women and men he associated with, or the places they visited, or the friends he made along the way. As much as he was obbsessed with Sam, he never hung around that much.

Dean was made for the road, soul to soul with his beloved Impala - _Baby!_ -, and _family life_ just wasn't it. Never would be.

But Sam started to notice the change, the lingering, the glances, the sticking around.

It's not like Sam never questioned Dean's obession with him. His down to serial-murder-obsession. But that's just who they are. Who they always were.

Hell, his brother _sold his soul_ for him.

Sam was pretty sure that Dad knew.

They were sneaky as teenagers but that man was a down-right genius. And it would be nothing but an insult to question his observation skills. So naturally Sam didn't blink about the fact that his father knew about him and Dean.

When he was fifteen he might have. Maybe even he was twenty-two but not now.

It was just one more thing on their list of things that would never be questioned.

Dean couldn't live without Sam, Sam couldn't live without Dean. End of story.

They understood that pretty quickly. Sam was fourteen and Dean was eighteen.

It had obviously stopped when Sam went to California. Well, _not really._ Physically, yes but emotionally, no.

It had stopped when Dean went to Lisa and Sam didn't have a soul.

It had stopped when Dean was in Hell.

But then, it started once Dean was back from Hell.

But while it was on the list of things that never were questioned, it also was on the list of things they never talked about.

It's not like they had to. They showed each other often enough.

But then things started to become different. Dean lingered, stared without watching and all in all got rather dazed. Like he wasn't really _there_.

Yet Sam never wondered too much, just accepted and when the one or other _encounter_ got a little too rough, a little too desperate, he just took it. It's not like he couldn't handle it.

But then almost a year ago. _Almost a year._

Dean went missing.

Two weeks Sam didn't know where is brother was. The Impala and his stuff was left behind, it's like he decided to get up and just walk out of the door, _just like that_.

It took Sam two weeks to find his brother again, held at gun point in a mansion owned by the Falken family. There he was, kneeling in a puddle of blood - _soaked in blood_ \- surrounded by six dead bodies. _Human bodies_.

He was held by gun point by a special SWAT team, police, goverment. _The Law_.

There wasn't much Sam could have done. And he frankly couldn't. Because he knew now that Dean was _not there._

They arrested him - _six-times murderer_ \- and they send him to an asylum. _Mental institution, mind you._

And all Sam could do was pretend to be his defense attorney, trying to push the case in the direction he wanted, trying to _save his brother._

 

**~~  ~~**

 

The next morning, Sam didn't feel any better. Or wiser, for that matter.

He knew that he should get ready and drive back to the hospital. For almost a year his brother didn't do anything. He didn't talk, he didn't mimic, he did nothing.

The case - _thank god_ \- took its time and for once Sam was glad that it took so long.

_Time._

He showered, got ready, got dressed up as a lawyer before he got into his black SUV and drove the familar way towards the hospital.

He needed to get Dean out, he knew that but at the same time he couldn't. Not yet.

When he arrived, he went inside and announced himself, he got told that Dr. Page was held up but that his client was in the recreation room. Not in the garden. It was raining outside. It had been raining the whole night.

For a moment Sam wondered if the magnolia tree had finally lost all of its petals.

His thoughts got cleared though as soon as he entered the common room. Plastic tables and chairs were scattered around. Patients were playing chess - or were thinking that they are playing - or were reading. No one really talked unless you counted that one lady in the corner, who just muttered to herself. Sam had seen her before.

He spotted his brother right away at the table in the middle. Grey scrubs on he was sitting alone, staring in front of him, ignoring the world around him.

Sam nodded towards the nurse, who kept watch by the door. Two guards were present as well.

He slowly walked over to Dean's table before he sat down.

"Hey." His voice broke and he ran a hand through his hair. He had to cut it, so he would look more business-like. Dean didn't budge.

Sam sighed.

"I'm trying my best, man. Trust me. Just hold on a little longer." Sam said and stared at Dean's hands. They were folded on top of the table.

The judges believed that Dean was insane. Why else would he slaugther an innocent family just like that?

 _They were executed, Mr. Davidson,_ the responsible coronor had told him.

But Sam knew better. _Of course he knew better_. No one knew his brother better than he did.

Dean's hand were still. Calm and collected. Not shaking like the others. Sam's glance wandered through the room. The other patients - no matter if pseudo calm or nervous - they all had a certain tick to them. Hands' shaking, twitching, blinking, muttering. Everything because of pills - or maybe lack of them.

Dean's hands weren't shaking.

Hands that Sam had known all his life. That could strip a gun and reassemble it in seconds.

Hands that so easily could kill. Take a life. Or two.

_Or six._

Sam shook his head. No, he couldn't start believe in it. This was fake, the job, the name, the case.

Dean wasn't really moving and Sam knew that he kept himself relaxed.

Because he was trained for it. _Keep your hands still, son! No matter how much stressed you are, no matter the situation, you keep calm, you keep your hand steady. Block the blood loss out, the pain, the headache, the heartbreak. You keep your hand steady because only then you will be able to handle a gun or a knife to kill that son of a bitch once and for all. You hear me,_ _son_ _?! Stop shaking! Focus and calm down! And then shoot._

_Yes, Sir._

It was a faint memory, mostly because Sam was even younger than Dean had been at that time. There was always the debate, who was the better hunter. Sam or Dean.

Between themselves it was just brotherly banter, between others it could decide over life or death.

But Sam knew that because of this, Dean had won.

Because Dean never stopped being a hunter. Never stopped thinking as one. Even chained to a table at a mental institution, focus not in this world, drugged with pills and sedatives, declared insane, unstable and dangerous. Even then, Dean never stopped being a hunter.

And Sam knew all of that because his brother's hand wasn't shaking.

His brother didn't say anything. Like always. Sam sighed again before he got up and walked to the nurse in lime green scrubs. She had been flirting with him from day one but Sam ignored her the best he could.

He had no nerve for that now.

"Is Dr. Page available now?" He asked and she shook her head. "No, but you can wait in his office." She stole a glance at Dean before she nooded to one of the guards and Sam was led out of the room heading towards Dr. Page's office.

The doctor wasn't there so Sam walked over to the window to look outside like he did yesterday. Rain was pouring down and Sam frowned when he saw that the magnolia tree hadn't lost all of its blossoms yet.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Dr. Page entered his office after Sam had waited exactly 17 minutes for him. The doctor's face was stern, stressed and tired. Sam didn't know what to do when he saw that Dr. Page was carrying Dean's file with him.

Sam had learned to spot that file instantly. 

"Mr. Davidson. Back so soon?"

Sam nodded. "The case is moving. I'll need to learn as much about Dean as possible. Over the last months he never spoke and all I got was your medical statments on his health and mental condition."

Dr. Page sighed and nodded. "Something new came up."

Sam perked up at that. "What?"

The man sat down at his desk and waved his hand to show Sam that he should take a seat as well. After sliding into the leather chair, he stared at the file Dr. Page had placed on the desk in front of him.

"Do you know any Sam?"

Sam paled. "Excuse me?"

"Do you anyone with the name Sam that is related to Dean? Or at least associated?" Dr. Page said. "You must have made a background check on him."

Sam nodded again. "Yeah, well we did. uhm... his brother. His brother's name is Sam. Samuel to be exact."

"Oh." Dr. Page frowned. "Well, there are these pictures that we want to show you."

Sam perked up. "What pictures?"

Dr. Page didn't answer but opened the file and Sam slided foward on the seat to sit on the edge, greedingly holding a hand out for the pictures.

"They are quite graphic." Dr. Page said and Sam just nodded, almost ripping the pictures out of the doctor's hands.

Once he had them though and looked at them, he wished he rather hadn't. All color drained from his face and he gulped.

_No._

**~~  ~~**

 

Later Sam went back to the motel - _home_ , he mocked - and he was exhausted to no end. He had picked up junk food on his way back and busied himself with eating then with reading and work and reasearch.

Some time around 2am, he walked over to the small kitchen, pushing the old coffee box out of the way to reach for the bag of instant coffee.

He needed to hurry. Time was slowly running out.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

The magnolia tree had lost another chunk of blossoms.

His brother was sitting on a bench that was chipped and once upon a time was painted blue. He was staring up in the sky, it was sunny for a change.

Sam's hands were in his pockets, his shoulders hunched like always before he dared to step closer to Dean. Because he even took a seat next to him, back pressed against the trunk of the tree. The rawness of the bark was pressing in his back through his jacket.

"They diagnosed me with the Renfield's syndrome."

It was the first time, Dean had spoken to him and Sam was too stunned to react. When he didn't say anything, Dean turned his head to look at him.

"That's…,"

"Clinical vampirism, I know." Sam finished. Believe me, _I know._

Dean nodded, content that he wouldn't need to explain _further_.

"I ain't a vampire, Sammy." He said then. "I'm the one killing 'em."

"What did you call me?" Sam panicked, looking around too see if no one from the staff was close to them. He sat up straighter.

Dean leaned forward, leaning his arms on his thighs before he clasped his hands together like he wanted to pray. He turned his head slightly to watch Sam over his shoulder. "Sam." He answered, voice calm and collected. "What else should I call you?"

He earnest to god cocked his head, giving Sam a look that clearly told the younger man that he was regarded as stupid.

After that, Dean didn’t speak anymore.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Renfield’s syndrome. Blood obsession.

Sam threw the old coffee box across the motel room, instantly regretting it. His brother wasn’t sick. Not really.

What did they expect? He went to Hell.

Sam stared at the old box that was lying on the floor now, the clasps still tight. He sighed.

It was the metal coffee box that always had been around. Dad had kept the change in there when they were kids. Had given the box to Dean when he was leaving and left them for themselves for a while, money safely tucked in there.

_It was the last thing Mom touched, Dean had explained to 5-year-old Sam at some point. The day she died, they had run out of coffee and she and I had gone out that afternoon to buy some. When they fire had been extinguished and Dad had returned to the house, the coffee box was still standing on the kitchen counter, unopened and untouched. She had put it there when they had come home._

Dad had kept it all those years and after Dad, Sam and Dean had kept it. The label and name of the coffee was long scratched out, the box blemished and dented.

Sam frowned but walked over to where he threw the box against the wall, satisfied that it had left a dent. He picked up the box and ran his fingers over the cold metal, as if he could smooth out the blemishes.

He put it back on the kitchen counter, pushing it towards the wall before he ran a hand through his hair, desperate.

He needed to act fast. Soon.

Sam turned around and stared at the piles of files and books on the small round table in the middle of the room. He sighed but it was not like he really had a choice. He sat down and drowned himself in work and research.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Sam stared at the psychiatrist - the one that was responsible of the decision if Dean was declared insane or not. She was standing in the corner, watching Sam and Dean with narrowed eyes.

He glanced away from her, focusing on his brother instead. They were back at the common room. Dean was sitting at the same table as two days ago.

Sam visited him every day. For the case, he pretended. And the staff really didn’t question him.

„So, I would like to see your room, alright?“ Sam asked casually, sticking to the plan. He had told Dr. Page yesterday that Dean talked to him, surprising him and the doctor.

"That’s progress," He had said pleased, noting it down in Dean’s file, "You should keep interacting with him."

Sam obviously planned on doing that anyway. He needed to get through to Dean.

Dean didn’t answer, so Sam just took it as a yes. He waved to the nurse at the door. She was standing next to the psychiatrist und unlike her, the nurse was smiling at him.

She understood the sign and leaned over to the guard to speak to him before she turned around to the psychiatrist, who looked everything but happy. According to her, Dean needed to be locked up and secured.

No human contact.

It was the first time, Sam had made use of his fake lawyer career. Right after Dean was submitted, she claimed that isolation was best for him. Sam argued against that.

And he won.

Which didn’t mean that the psychiatrist had a field day every time she needed to examine Dean’s mental condition.

Sam got up and Dean followed him automatically. Still not speaking but moving and Sam just shrugged.

They walked together with the psychiatrist and a guard to Dean’s room.

The room was small and plain. Just one bed was standing in there, mounted to the ground. One window locked and barred. There was a metal shelf on the wall but it was empty.

Dr. Page had told him in the beginning that they had a reward system. Someone who behaved was allowed to pick a book from the pathetic excuse of a bookshelf, they had titled library. They could take it back with them to their room for the day.

There was no bathroom or toilet. All lavatories where outside in a common washroom. Privacy wasn’t really a thing here.

“They gave me a bible.” Dean suddenly spoke behind him. “Everyone has a bible in their room.”

Sam turned around to see that his brother was standing in the middle of the room, face expressionless. Dr. Seeley, the psychiatrist, was standing outside of the room, watching Sam as well as Dean. The door was open and Sam spotted the guard as well, ready to interfere.

“So where is it?” Sam asked, looking around the bare room.

Dean shrugged. “Buried it in the garden.”

Sam noticed that Dr. Seeley was raising an eyebrow at that declaration, obviously unaware of the fact. And most definitely, she would put it down in her hate-file regarding Dean.

“Why?” Sam asked.

Dean just looked at him. Really looked at him.

Sam swallowed.

“’Cause it’s a load of bullshit, that’s why.” Dean scoffed. “God, yeah… son of a bitch.”

Sam had to supress a chuckle.

“Not a believer, huh, Mr. Winchester?” Dr. Seeley swept into the room, having eavesdropped on the conversation. Sam made a sour face. He couldn’t stand that woman.

“No.” His brother answered. Calmly. “No. Not since Hell.”

“Hell?” Dr. Seeley narrowed her eyes. It was obvious that this was the longest talk she had ever to Dean. She seemed eager to get as much out of Dean as she possibly could.

“Yes. You know, Lucifer and all the other demonic dickheads. Living there, torturing.” Dean casually told her before he turned to Sam. “I still can smell the burning flesh sometimes.”

Sam stared at Dr. Seeley, who had a glimmer in her eyes. This was it, this was the one thing that would give her a reason to get Dean locked up. Away from court, away from the Sam.

Sam definitely preferred it when Dean didn’t talk.

At least then, all they could do was speculate.

“Mr. Davidson, I’d advise you to leave, please.” Dr. Seeley said without looking away from Dean.

Sam frowned, wanting to object but the guard appeared in the door and reluctantly Sam moved to leave to room.

As soon as he had walked past Dean and Dr. Seeley, everything went too fast. Hands pushed against his back and he stumbled out of the room, colliding with the guard before the door banged shut behind him, locking Dean and the doctor into the room.

He panicked; eyes going wide as the guard was shoving him aside, banging against the door. He screamed and more people came running down the corridor. Sam was pressed against the wall, heart beating until Dr. Page himself arrived.

A general key was pulled, the door unlocked and Sam stared in horror at the scene before him.

Dean was sitting on his bed; the blue scrubs he had been wearing slowly grew wet from all the blood that seeped through them. His hair was caked with it as well, slicked back while it was smeared all over his right cheek.

Dr. Seeley’s body was lying at his naked feet that dangled from the bed. Her throat was ripped open, blood was still pouring out and pooled around her body, slowly seeping into the concrete floor. The angle of her head indicated that her neck was broken as well.

Dead eyes stared up at Sam, horror and panic was the last expression she had been wearing.

He gulped and needed to breath through his nose as the metallic ting reached his nose.

Dr. Page and the five guards were as shocked as him, nobody moved.

Sam looked up to stare at Dean. His brother was calm and collected; no expression acrossed his face. That was until he stared down at his bed sheets, eyebrows narrowed in confusion while the blood was dripping from his hair and onto his pillow.

He frowned before he looked up to see the people assembled at the door, he didn’t even spare a glance at the dead body in front of him.

“My sheets need cleaning.” He declared before he looked back at the bloodstain on his pillow. It was obviously the only thing that bothered him at the moment.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Sam knew that this was it. The last straw.

Now, the court wouldn’t even care what would happen to Dean, screw the formal hearing. He was about to be locked away for good.

Sam shuffled through the papers on the motel room desk. Everything else was packed and he just needed to make some last minute arrangements. It was much faster than he thought but somehow he managed to collect everything he needed in a few hours instead of the days he expected to still have.

Sam couldn’t stay on the case any longer. The Falken murders were bad enough but this was worse. His reliably would be questioned, this time by the government itself and Sam knew that no matter how good his cover was, it would never be that good.

He needed to act and he needed to act fast before it was too late.

He grabbed the papers he needed, stuffed the rest into his duffle bag before he took all his stuff and walked out of the motel room for good.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

He threw the stuff in his trunk before he checked if he had everything. He checked twice if he had packed the coffee box. Satisfied he walked around the car and got in, suddenly missing the Impala.

He needed to change cars as soon as possible.

He didn’t have much stuff, despite living in that motel room for almost a year. It was sad really; he always had a life that fit into the Impala.

Of course he had lost stuff over the years. Dean and him constantly lost stuff. Shoes, socks, jackets. Sometimes they have to leave them behind because a heat of the moment situation had required them to move - to act - and there was no time to grad all their stuff. And then sometimes, going back to it just didn't seem worth it.

Sam knew that he couldn’t do that now. He needed to get the Impala first otherwise it would take years to get her out of the storage unit. Especially when he succeed in getting Dean out. They would notice him missing as well and they would look into it.

He couldn’t risk leaving the car behind in case they would track down his actions in the past months.

It was a short drive and soon Sam was standing in front of the rented garage when an idea hit him. He transferred all his stuff to the Impala’s front seat before he placed the coffee box in the middle of the back seat.

After that, he got into the SUV again and drove one last time towards the hospital, where is brother was currently staying.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Dr. Page regarded him with suspicion. And Sam couldn’t really blame him.

“It’s not much, really. All I need to do is read him his charges. “ Sam said. “I have to do it in person.” He added when Dr. Page opened his mouth to object.

“I can’t leave you alone with him, Mr. Davidson.” Dr. Page swallowed. “Not after what happened yesterday.”

Sam nodded. “I understand. But I also must follow protocol or the case could be declared a fraud.” He exaggerated but he needed to be fast before the actual lawyer would show up here. And Dr. Page was still flustered enough that Sam could use it to his advantage.

“Fine. You can talk to him for two minutes. Supervised of course.” The doctor finally said and Sam nodded in relief.

Three guards took him away towards a part of the hospital he never been to before. It was dark because there were no windows, just lights behind wire frames. The doors were triple locked and Sam had no doubt that this was the place for the heavy cases.

For the real insane ones.

They stopped in front of a door and one of the guards rattled down some behavior rules. Sam just nodded along without listening.

He put his hands in his pockets, hands closing around the objects in there before he waited for the guards to open the door.

Dean looked up from where he was sitting, a smile danced along his lips as he saw Sam. It became a full grin when Sam stepped into the room, one guard close behind him.

“Mr. Winchester.” Sam said with a clear voice.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother in a mocking way and Sam breathed out.

This was going to be easy.

“Dean.” He said and his brother got up in one smooth move. The guard behind Sam tensed but Sam gestured him that it was okay.

“What you need?” Dean asked, eyes bright and aware. Sam smiled.

He was back.

“Blood.” Sam said and Dean nodded. Sam grazed the razor blade in his pocket with his thumb when he said it. It stung but he remained silent. Sam’s eyes wandered to the wall behind himself and he saw it then. The symbol, which was drawn there with Dr. Seeley’s blood. They obviously had taken Dean to this ward before he could get cleaned yesterday.

Dean just indicated a nod, aware of the guard, who was still paying attention closely. Sam withdrew his hand; Dean could get a glimpse of silver between his thumb and index finger. He held out his hand and with a swift move, Sam threw the razor blade into Dean’s palm.

The cut from his thumb was oozing blood, it mixed with Dean’s and the guard was shouting something, and Sam felt that he was pulled away as he watched how a drop of their mixed blood fell down on the floor. The symbol on the wall flared up instantly and before Sam knew what was happening, he and Dean had disappeared.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

Dr. Page was staring out of the window in his office. It wasn’t raining outside but the sky was clouded and the wind had picked up. He caught a glimpse of the tree in the far corner of the garden, noticing it’s bare branches.

That’s when the guards stormed into his office, shouting in alarm.

It took him a while to understand them. When realization of the situation hit him, he raced to the phone to call the police before he could go down to the ward to see it himself.

They just vanished. A guard had told him. Just disappeared.

Sam and Dean had left and the magnolia tree back in the garden had lost all his petals.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

The metal coffee box was digging into Sam’s back.

They were both seated in the Impala’s back seat, both groaning in pain at the small space. His head was spinning like crazy as well.

Before he had time to react, Sam felt warm hands grab his face and he was pulled forward, Dean’s hot mouth closing over his. 

Sam breathed in his brother's scent. It was mostly blood and dried sweat but he was used to it, so it felt right instead of wrong.

But he couldn't get carried away.

He broke away from Dean, breathing heavily before he scrambled over and fumbled with the door to push it open and to get out. He got the keys from his front pants, indicating for Dean to stay in the back before he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.

He had left the garage unlocked and was able to drive out smoothly and away.

Away, away, _away._

"Where are we going?" Dean asked after a good five minutes. Sam was already on the highway. "Away." Sam answered, pressing his foot down on the petal. "Stay in the back, stay low... there is a blanket somewhere... When I tell you, pretend to sleep, push your face into to the seat and cover yourself. We need to get out of the state. They have probably informed the damn FBI already."

Sam didn't wait for Dean to answer. All he focused on was to get them out.

"What about the Impala?"

 "It was the first thing I got deleted from your data. And I had a different car. Nobody will associate us with her. It will buy us time." Sam said. 

Dean nodded in the back before he slid down in the seat. "Thanks, Sammy." His voice was thin.

Sam bit his lower lip. "Always."

 

 **~~  ~~** 

 

"I found us a case." Sam announced two months later. He dropped the newspaper in front of Dean, a particular part of an article was circled by a red sharpie. 

"And?" Dean asked as he picked up the paper to scan the headlines. "What do you suggest we do now?"

"Stupid." Sam replied, with a tone that reminded him of his 10-year-old, know-it-all self. He walked by Dean, his fingers brushing the nape of his brother's neck in the most innocent way. He turned towards the bed to start packing.

"We hunt, of course."

Dean smiled. He sighed.

"Of course."

 

**~~  ~~**

 

They had kept a low profile since the escape. And with time, they started to delete their data from the police databases. First the physical apperances, then the pictures, then the names, then the crimes.

Week after week, the information became less.

At this point, Sam was sure that they wouldn't attract more attention than usual.

So, it was time to hunt.

 They had stayed in a cabin in the woods, a hunter's safehouse, which an old friend owned and at some point during their childhood, Dad had brought them there for _vacation._  

It was close enough to civilization for them to get supplies without a problem but far away to not get the townspeople on their asses.

But Sam knew that Dean was slowly starting to develop cabin fever and he as well, so maybe it was for the best for them to get out and do what they did best. 

Kill some monsters.

Sam watched Dean pack their things. His brother hadn't talked much to him and Sam didn't ask. But it seemed like things were back to normal.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

It was a nasty kill, one that made Sam feel so dirty that he needed to shower three times and still feel dirty.

Dean didn't seem to care.

They were back at the cabin, drinking beer and whiskey in turns.

"So Sam?" Dean started. "How did you get me out of that hospital again?"

Sam gulped. It was the first time Dean had spoken of that fatal past year. "Spell." He then answered. "It took me a while to find one but once I found that one, I started to collect the ingredients. They were really rare as the spell was taken from alchemy, most of them only appear in Europe."

Dean nodded. "So why did you plant a skinwalker in front of my eyes then?"

"Dr. Seeley?" Sam asked. "It was quite the work to get her transferred. We needed the blood and the main ingredient was arsenic. The ground needed to be drenched in it. Your first room was in the new part of the hospital, the high security rooms were in the old part, that one had a higher arsenic rate. The spell wouldn't have worked in your old room."

"The symbol I wanted you to draw needed to be painted with skinwalker blood, that's why Dr. Seeley needed to be there. And why I needed you to kill her. It wasn't easy to plant the small silver dagger in your room and the paper with the symbol drawing, especially with the guards watching my every move."

Sam took a sip from his beer. He wanted to ask Dean so badly why he killed Dr. Seeley in the way he did. He knew that Dean needed the blood to paint and that's why he was drenched in it, to gather enough so he could paint the symbol on the wall in his new room. It was pure luck that Dean was restrained and put in the room first and not in the shower. Sam had hoped that they would attend to Dr. Seeley first before they focus on Dean again.

"And I needed time because I wanted to let the case get forgotten first. If we escaped two weeks after your capture, they would have sent out SWAT teams and what not." Sam lied. He needed to lie.

They could have escaped the day after but Sam wasn't able to. Not when Dean wasn't himself. And his brother wasn't. He didn't respond and he didn't react.

 And in order to make the plan work, Sam needed Dean to be himself.

He needed Dean to kill the Skinwalker, needed their blood to paint the symbol. And the attack would be the reason for them to change him from slight risk to high risk and therefore transfer him into the high security section of the hospital. 

The plan would have been ready three weeks after Dean's imprisonment. But it was his brother that delayed it.

Sam switched to whiskey. Tonight was the same again. Dean wasn't even blinking an eye when he went gut-deep into some ghoul nest. _Like he didn't care._

After two months together again, Sam seriously questioned what he had overlooked?

 

**~~  ~~**

 

He definitely missed his brother. Yes,  _definitely_.

They were sweating and aching and breathing hard as they lay next to each other on a bed that was too small to hold them both. They managed, they always managed.

And while Sam came down from his high and closed his eyes, Dean got up and sauntered over to the small bathroom.

When the shower didn't turn on, Sam lifted his heavy head from the pillow to stare at the closed bathroom door. Light was shining from under it but there was no noise.

He frowned before he got up and put on some pants.

"Dean?" He called but there was no answer. 

"Dean." He repeated and slowly pushed the door to the bathroom open.

His brother was standing in a puddle of blood. His blood.

There was a small silver dagger in his hand, the one he used to kill Dr. Seeley, the same one Sam had smuggled into the hospital and into his room. He hadn't seen it since then but he knew Dean had used it on the fake doctor or otherwise she wouldn't have been dead.

"Dean." Sam chocked and Dean looked up surprised, eyes far away and not really looking at Sam. More through him.

He smiled a haunted smile. It danced on Dean's lips while Sam's eyes roamed over Dean's torso, eyes glued to the mess his brother had made.

S. A. M.

 The letters were etched deep into the skin. Angry red.

Blood was gushing from the wounds, running down his hips and over his legs to pool around his feet. Sam stared and Dean let the dagger fall to the floor. 

It clinked against the white tiles and it rang in Sam's ears. His head was pounding.

Dean lifted one hand, one blood soaked, velvet red hand and tried to reach for Sam but Sam stumbled back.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean said with a smile. "Now you always will be there. With me."

Dean averted his eyes. "I don't like to be alone, Sammy."

Sam stared at his name carved in his brother's chest and he didn't know what to do.

_He didn't know what to do._

It was the first time in his life that Sam realized that Dean might not be _Dean_ anymore.

 

**~~  ~~**

 

The cabin had a little garden. It was quite nice with wild flowers everywhere and some wild vegetables. The cabin was close to the forest's edge, not deep within. Grass was surounding the small house.

There was a magnolia tree in the garden.

When they first arrived, Dean was delighted. _This tree has pretty flowers, Sammy._

_Blossoms, Dean._

_I wonder if we_ _will_ _see it bloom next year._

_No, we won't._

_Why not?_

_Don't you see? It's dead already. It's just dead wood._

_Oh_.

Dean had looked upon the tree, dead and rotten branches reached above his head. Now he saw the whitish color of the wood. It indeed was dead. Nothing would bloom there anymore.

Dean sighed. He liked that tree. Even if it was mocking him with it's pureness and innocence. Even when it was already dead. At least he could relate to that, he mused. It was fitting, really. 

Because in the end they weren't that much different.

 

They were both dead and withered.

 

 

 

**~~  ~~**

 

** **

**[© Art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6755425) **


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